


Let Him In

by jscript67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, African Dream Root, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Nightmares, POV Second Person, Protective Sam, Protective Sam Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 07:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9537017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscript67/pseuds/jscript67
Summary: When Dean has had enough of the constant back and forth flirting between you and Sam, he decides to take matters into his own hands. But, after slipping Sam some dream root, things don't exactly go as planned.(Trigger Warnings!)





	1. Something's Up

The hunt was finally over and although you, Sam, and Dean all came out covered in some grime and a bit of blood, you were surprisingly unscathed for the most part. This was all surprisingly easy for a witch hunt, but you certainly weren't complaining.

Once the witch business was finished, you all got out of the house and made sure to clean up a bit and leave no trace of the three of you being there. You followed the boys out to the impala that was parked a bit of a distance from the building (this being because none of you felt like possibly alerting an already-suspicious witch to your presence at her house) and hopped in the back. Dean, of course, took his place behind the wheel of his beloved baby and Sam plopped in shotgun.

Sam. The simple thought of his name brought a smile to your face.

You had been crushing on the youngest Winchester since you had met the brothers. In fact, he was the one to save you from a solo hunt that went south extremely fast about three years back. You had been hunting some damn werewolf for two weeks, but when you finally pin-pointed who it was and were able to make your move, your gun decided that then would be the perfect time to jam. Not to mention your silver knife getting caught in the belt-loop of your jeans during your sudden frenzy to grab it. The werewolf had you pinned - blood pouring from your legs and side - and it was bracing itself to slash through your chest. That was before Sam shot a silver bullet straight through its heart. Ever since you looked up through your daze of confusion and blood loss and toward the giant, soft-eyed teddy bear of a man, you knew that you were hooked. But you had seriously underestimated just how deep you were in.

You love Sam.

"Well, considering the night is still quite young, what do you two think about hitting the bar and celebrate a bit?" you asked over the sound of steady rock music playing from the impala's speakers.

You were feeling a little tired, but not from the hunt. You knew it was because you have trouble sleeping (nightmares are bitches). You've had this problem for years, so you're used to it by now, but you still feel effects from especially bad nights. But that - in no way - was going to stop you from a chance at spending some quality time with your fellow hunters (especially a certain shaggy-haired, 6'4 one in particular). Besides, you needed a reason to stay awake.  
Before Sam could answer, Dean piped up.

"I don't know, I think that we should just head back. We uh - we need to get up pretty early to hit the road tomorrow."

Well, you sure weren't expecting that. You glanced up to look in the rear-view mirror, locking your eyes with Sam, and you both share a confused look. Dean was never one to turn down getting a drink.

"Dean, it's only 9:15," Sam spoke up, checking the time before glancing at Dean who was oddly extremely focused on the road in front of him. Dean shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes still locked on the road, as he fumbles out a response.  
"Yeah, I'm just not feelin' up to going out tonight. I think we should all just stay in and catch up on some rest before we have to get going." He shifts again and doesn't spare Sam, nor you, a glance.

You turn your attention to Sam, who catches your eyes in the mirror again. You both share a look that silently speaks your confusion, but you decide to just leave it alone. It's obvious that something's up, but you decide to not push it.

"Yeah, I guess some sleep does sound pretty good. Maybe some other time, then." You say, trying to ignore the tense build of confusion that’s radiating throughout the car. Dean catches your sight for a split second, gives you a curt not, and immediately turns his attention back to the road - shifting one more time.

Sam meets your gaze, yet again, and you give him a small smile before turning your attention to a nervous-looking Dean, then out the window - taking in the dark, shadowy scenery as you're quickly brought down the road.

You fall back in your seat as the rest of the ten minute ride ensues, doing the best that you can to avoid the alluring temptation of sleep - and to try and figure out just what's up with Dean.

You begin to feel the gentle pull of sleep stubbornly tugging at you, but you continue to fight it. You want to wait until you're away from the boys before you attempt to drift off - just in case of your nightmares. You had thought about just staying up, like you have for the past two nights already, but it seems like all of the leftover adrenalin acquired from the hunt and its activities has worn off. The gentle rumble and movement of baby certainly isn't helping with your initial plan of keeping your eyes open. But, before you're able to slip into the bliss of sleep, you find that Dean has parked at the motel and its time to get out.

You semi-slide, semi-stumble out of the car, stretching your arms above your head as you get to a balanced standing position. You shut the door and follow the guys up the pathway that leads to your rooms - yours being right next to theirs due to the fact that these were the only two rooms available when you checked in. As you go to enter your room, you turn to bid the brothers goodnight. However, before you're able to do so, you hear Sam begin to say something.

"Wanna come in for a beer, Y/N?" He asks, turning his full attention to you. He's ignoring Dean, who was desperately fumbling with his room key. You go to speak up, but are cut off by Dean dramatically barging into the motel room, and slamming the door shut behind him. Both you and Sam snap your attention to the now closed door, then back to each other.

After exchanging a confused look with each-other, and severely debating his offer, you decide it'd probably be best to at least try and get a little rest while the guys were still up and making noise. You figure that way, if you do have a nightmare, your possible noises would be drowned out by their shower or TV; even though saying no to Sam was literally next to impossible. You just couldn't take the chance of letting him see you as someone who's weak minded, and you feared that if he knew about your nightmares (let alone your past), that's exactly what he'd believe.

"As much as I'd love to take you up on that offer, I actually think that I'm gonna turn in for the night. Thanks, though." You say, before standing on your tiptoes, and (still having to pull his face down a bit so that you could reach) lightly kiss his cheek. You give him a thankful smile and head into your room.

Holy crap. You just kissed his cheek. You aren't even drunk.

Where did that come from?

You don't chance looking back, scared of seeing disgust and confusion written all over his features, and just make it a step into your room before you feel a large hand land on your wrist. You flinch a bit - clearly not expecting to be stopped - and look up to see a pair of mischievous green eyes staring back at you.

"Dean? Wha-"

You're question is interrupted when he places a beer in the same hand that is connected to the wrist that he's still holding onto.

"Here, just, you know, felt bad for not going out tonight. Thought you might still want something to drink."

You close your hand around the neck of the bottle and go to thank him, but before you're given the chance, he's back in his and Sam's motel room, practically dragging a gaping Sam in behind him before shutting the door.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, but then decide that there's no point in just standing there while a perfectly good beer is getting warm. You wander into your motel room, deciding to enjoy your beer before you grab a shower and turn in. Anything to keep the inevitable nightmares at bay.

You plop down onto the old, crusty couch (that you're seriously having second doubts about sitting on) and begin to sip at your beer, flipping through the different channels that the motel TV has to offer. Before you know it, though, you're eyelids begin to droop at their own accord. You must've been more tired than you had originally thought.

You take a few more sips of your beer and set it down on the coffee table that’s in front of the couch. You go to get up and meander your way to the bed - no longer caring that you're still in your jeans and flannel, or that you still haven't showered - but instantly fall back onto the couch as soon as you try to stand.

Something is wrong, but you can't find the energy to do anything about it as you slip into the quickening and alluring grasp of sleep - and into the most vivid dream you’ve ever had.


	2. Night, Sammy

As soon as Dean hands you the beer, he quickly hauls his way back into his and Sam's motel room - grabbing and dragging a very confused Sam with him - before closing the door and running over to two open bottles sitting on top of the mini fridge.

"Dean, wha-"

"Here, drink this, then ask your questions."

Dean says, shoving an open beer into one of Sam's open hands, cutting off any further questions for the moment, just like he did with you.

"But Dean, why are you -"

"Drink. Then ask."

Again, Sam is cut off by Dean as he plops down onto one of the beds, still sitting up, taking sips of his own beer as he eyes his still-confused brother standing in the doorway. Sam glances down at the beer and then up at his brother, who still has this strange look on his face. He almost looks like he's waiting and anticipating for something to happen. Sam finally caves in and takes a few sips as he makes his way to the bed opposite of Dean’s. Sam goes to place the bottle on the nightstand before he's interrupted yet again.

"Keep drinking."

"Dean, why do I need to -"

"Dude, just trust me. I'll talk, you drink. Trust me."

Dean sounds serious, so Sam just nods. He still has a confused look plastered along his features, but he takes a few more sips, slowly nursing his drink as Dean begins to explain what the hell is up.

"Now, I know you're wondering why I've been acting a bit off my rocker tonight."

Dean begins and Sam nods in agreement as he takes a few more swigs - starting to feel a bit tired.

"And I'm gonna try to make this short and sweet, cause it looks like you're fadin' pretty fast there."

Sam sees the smirk on Dean's face as he makes that last statement, and now he's really wondering just what's up.

"Well, to put it simply, I'm tired of the back and forth googly eyes, nervousness, flirting, and overall awkwardness between you and (Y/N). So, being the awesome big brother that I am, I may have nabbed a bit of dream root from that witch we ganked tonight. I also managed to get my hands on a piece of hair from (Y/N)'s brush that she keeps stashed in Baby, which she still somehow thinks I don't know about by the way."

Dean gives a quick scoff and head shake - not knowing how anyone could think there's a thing about, on, or in his baby that he doesn't know about.

"Look, I know she likes you, dude. I can hear her sometimes in her sleep, not often, but sometimes, and she does dream about you, man. So just relax, sleep tight, and enjoy the show. Maybe when you finally wake up, we can settle this once and for all. Hmm? Yeah, there ya go."

Dean sees that Sam is fading - and fast. He grabs the beer bottle from Sam's hand before he drops it in his nearly-asleep state. Sam still managed to hear everything his brother said, and (nervously) understands him (knowing that (Y/N) won't be thrilled about this whole set up at all), but doesn't have any energy left to do anything about it or say anything to Dean. So, unwillingly, he lets go and falls into sleep's welcoming and demanding hold.

"Night, Sammy!"

Barely registering his brother's sing-songy voice, Sam closes his eyes and falls back onto the bed. He's out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for checking out my work! This is my very first fan-fic that I've ever written, so I'm incredibly sorry if it isn't up to par! I hope that I've reflected the characters in the way that represents them in the best way possible, and I really, really hope that you enjoy(ed) reading! Thank you so, so much for checking it out! Comments are very welcome ^.^  Also, a major thank you to my wonderful friend, AmegakureAngel, for beta reading everything! She's the best!!  
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading!!!


	3. Admitting

You open your eyes to find that you're inside a run-down, smelly, old motel room - but it's not just any motel room. This is the room that your life changed in.

Your parents were hunters before you were born (your dad becoming one after a werewolf killed your grandfather, and your mom marrying into the life), but they divorced when you were eleven. They had agreed that they wanted you in the life, but they had to split their time with you. Being they had to split their time with you, you would spend six months of the year with your mom - helping with research and staying (mainly) out of the line of fire while she and your aunt (your mom's sister/new hunting partner) would partake in the action - and six months of the year with your dad (who honestly stopped giving a damn about you around a year after the divorce). You were just too much of a reminder of your mom; You were too much of a reminder of all the things he lost, of all the things that could've been, of all the happy times, and of all the bad times. It was all too much for him.

But after your mom and aunt's death (thanks to a Djinn case that went horribly wrong) soon after you turned fourteen, you were left with your dad - and only your dad. And to say that you were in a living hell would actually sum it up pretty well (and you're friends with the Winchester's, so you know all about hell and what it has to offer).

This memory that you found yourself stuck in was one that took place when you were almost fifteen, nearly seven months after you had been living full-time with your dad. The abuse that he inflicted had already been happening for over a year (even when your mom was alive, although she didn't know about it. Nobody knew, and you made sure of that). But that day, in this motel room, was when it wasn't just drunken, hurtful slurs and the occasional handprint or bruise marring your body. No - this was when everything changed.

The slam of the motel room's door pulled you from your thoughts and into the present situation. You looked up to see none other than your father, drunk, and leaning back against the door while staring at you. Your gaze shifted from him to the floor, you didn't want to provoke him, even though you knew - just by his stance and the very room you're standing in - what was about to come your way. Your dad slams his keys down on a little stand by the door, and then begins to make his way to you.

"You know, you've got some nerve goin' around here, treatin' me like shit, not carin' about no damn thing."

You knew what this was about. You looked around and saw that you hadn't cleaned up his old beer bottles from the night before, and you had a pair of jeans, a tank top, and a few toiletries lying out on your bed - not put away like they were supposed to be.

"I mean I ask you to do one, simple thing, (Y/N). One thing. And ya' can't even do that. Damn, you really are worthless, huh?" He drunkenly slurs as he slowly makes his way over to you, like a predator stalking his prey.

"But I think that I know a way that you can make up for that."  
You're dad slurs out as he continues to make his way over to you.

Before you know what's happening, you feel a sharp sting across the side of your face. You fall to the ground, and in your haze of pain and shock, you swear that you can hear a familiar voice. It's not your dad's voice, but it is one that you know quite well. You just can't seem to be able to place it.

You push your thoughts aside and let your mind focus on one thing and one thing only, and that's getting to the door.

You turn from your side to your stomach and try to burst up and into a sprint for the door (as best you can given your dizzy state), but you're stopped by a pair of large hands grasping your ribcage. Your dad lifts you up, squeezing as hard as he can. You let out a yelp of pain, followed by a moan as you realize that you've now hit the ground - and hard.

You swear that you can hear tons of noise coming from outside, but that's far from being your main concern at the moment.

Before you can realize what's completely going on around you, you're being picked up again. This time it's by your right arm and your left leg. You then feel the sensation of being flung through the air, followed by a sharp, dulling pain at the top and front of your head. You realize that you've just hit the headboard of your dad's motel bed, and you can't tell if it's just you being wishful or the fact that you did just hit your head pretty hard, but you swear you hear that voice again - and it's calling for… you? Could that be?

You aren't given the time to be able to determine if you're correct or not. All of a sudden, you feel the scratchy sensation of a rough fabric sliding down your legs. You glance down, beginning to panic and fight at the sight. Your jeans are almost to your ankles, exposing your scarred and bruised legs. Your dad keeps working at them, mumbling under his breath, but you're not paying attention to anything he's saying.

You fight harder until you’ve finally got a semi-steady grip on the belt-loop of your worn and faded holey pants. It's a match of tug-of-war between you and your drunken asshole of a father. But, even three sheets to the wind, he's still a lot stronger than you are. The alcohol enhancing his angry and deliberate movements causes him to rip the fabric from your sore, red hands. And, with a cry of shame, defeat, and pure agony, you're forced to let go.

You resort to pleading.

At first, you relinquish a string of "No, please" and "Stop", but he's not listening. He starts to go for your underwear - seemingly deciding that your top was too much work to take off. You stop pleading and, in a moment of desperation, call for the one person you always count on to save you.

"Sam! Sam, please help me! Sam! Sam, please! Please!" As much as you don't want him to know about this part of your life, you know that you would rather him be able to help you than face this torture again. You need Sam - you realize that now. 

You're met with a harsh slap from your dad, followed by him tightly grasping your chin - forcing you to look up at him. You hear him call you a whore and belittle you for sleeping around with other men, but you're also becoming more and more aware of the repetitive banging coming from outside your motel room door - or is it your window? You can't tell for sure, but you also think that you vaguely register someone calling your name again - and it's that same voice. That voice you knew you trusted but didn't know why. 

In your haze of trying to keep your underwear up, you ignore the burning sensation coming from your face and try to focus on that voice (and whether or not it's actually calling out to you). You don't notice the whole setting change until you're no longer fighting off a drunken, demanding man from your body.

You look up and around, now sitting up, and notice you're in a yard with a lot of cars around. 

Bobby's?

You had only been to the kind, sassy, old man's house a handful of times, but it was more than enough for you to know what it looked like. You had actually met the grumpy teddy-bear a while back. It was actually because of Bobby that you had even been familiar with the name 'Winchester' before running into them for yourself. 

You couldn't quite place any familiarity with the setting other than you knew it was Bobby's house. You knew that you only had good memories associated with this home, so you must be safe now. This thought was proven right as you glanced to the side of the house. Standing there was none other than Sam.

You decide to get up and make your way over to him, trying to call out his name as you go - even though it only comes out as a shocked whisper. Relief, joy, and comfort floods your being at the very sight of him. 

But as you get closer and closer, you realize that he isn't moving - he's just standing there, hands in his pockets, as still as a statue.

"Sam?" You call out to him as you get within about five feet, hopefulness and relief still filling you to the brim and flowing out through your tone.

A loud slam coming from the front door captivates your attention, and you whip your entire body around to see what caused the noise. When your body stills, and your vision isn't blurred from the fast turn anymore, you look up and see none other than your dad - holding a rifle.

Your blood runs cold and the color flushes from your face instantaneously, panic gripping at your chest and throat. You know this memory just like you knew the one at the motel.

It hadn't gone exactly the way it's going at the moment, but this is like a mockery of the first time you met Bobby. You were seventeen - still living with your dad, working with him as a hunter. Your morning had started off normal. You were at another run-down motel, working a case in some off-the-wall town, and you had the task of researching what you could about what you and your dad were supposed to be hunting.

However, apparently you weren't doing a good enough job, so your dad had gotten pissed off (as per usual) and roughed you up a bit. He gave you a few slaps, pushes, and pulls for being "so unreliable" and "useless". But then you decided to unleash a part of you that you had kept balled and chained for years. You sassed him. You remember the words "Well at least I don't sit on my ass all day and wait for people to do shit for me" spewing out from your mouth in a harsh whisper - you hadn't even meant for him to necessarily hear it. But he heard it loud and clear.

You wound up on the floor before you could even register that you had just said that out loud. You remember the dull sensation of boots and fists colliding with you from all sides. Finding no refuge in trying to cover yourself, you just laid there and took it - awaiting for the sweet relief of either death or passing out. Everything had stopped for a moment - no more kicks, hits, incoherent mumbling and fussing from your rage-filled dad. Nothing. Except for the sound of a gun being readied. 

Your eyes shot open to see the image of your dad standing above you, holding the same gun he is right now, and spewing some hateful words (that you had no time to pay attention to because you were already focused on getting out of that motel - your wobbling frame carrying you the best that it could). When you had managed to get to the door, your dad had started firing. You were grazed with a couple of bullets - one finding a burning refuge in your right leg on your outer thigh - but you kept going. You pushed the pain down until the sound of the gun was no longer ringing in your ears, and the burning sensation radiating in your exhausted lungs was too much to ignore. You remember collapsing for a few minutes, trying to figure out just what to do now. You immediately knew that there was no way that you were you going back to that hell-hole. He'd surely kill you, without a doubt. You decided to get as far away as you could before you gave up. You determined that you were okay with dying. You'd never though it would be this way - from the hands of your father or a simple bullet - but if, after you tried, you weren't able to make it, then that'd be okay with you. After all, with everything you had been through, death was considered solace in your mindset.

Besides, you couldn't imagine you'd make it very far on your own anyways. 

So, you trekked out a bit. You had tried fishing that bullet out of your leg before going off, but it was in too deep. With a mixture of exhaustion, pain, and blood-loss, you weren't able to make it very far. But you did stumble across an old junk yard (not even registering the house that was there with it), and decided to seek refuge in one of the old, run-down vehicles and await your imminent death. That was until the front door swung open before you could even get your hand wrapped around the handle of some old, rusted pick-up, and your world went black.

That was the day that you met Bobby Singer, and that was the day he saved - and changed - your life. He took you in, patched you up, and got you back on your feet before you left on your own again - insisting that you couldn't burden him any further than you already had. He was reluctant in letting you leave, but you promised to keep in contact and visit him soon (little did either of you know that "soon" would be about eight months later - accompanied by the Winchester brothers). When you showed up with the Winchesters, neither Bobby nor you told them that you had already met. Bobby didn't know what exactly had happened to you on the day that he saved your life, but he knew that you didn't want people asking about your past. So, in courtesy of you, he kept his mouth shut.

Snapping back into reality, you immediately look back at Sam to find him still just standing there, staring at your dad, but not showing any emotion or signs of movement.

Oh, God… What if he shoots Sam? Apparently Sam can't even move, and now your dad is armed and even more dangerous than before! You finally called Sam to help you - you decided that you finally wanted to let him in - and now he's going to get killed because of it. He's going to get killed because of you…

"Sam! We have to go. We have to leave. Now! Sam, please! What are you doing? Why are you just standing there? We need to leave!" You plead with him, grabbing his arm, pulling him off to somewhere - you aren't sure where, but you just know that you have to get him out of there. You have to get out of there.

But instead of moving, his sight turns from your dad to you.

"Alright, you little bitch! Time to pay! You've caused me enough trouble. You know what this is for. You know that you deserve this!" 

Your attention is snapped back to your dad at his harsh words, but as soon as you see him cock his gun and begin to make his way towards you and Sam, you spin back around to find Sam standing the exact same way as when you looked away. Just staring at you, void of any emotion or urgency.

"Sam! C'mon, Sammy, let's go! We need to leave! Sam! Sam, please! We have to go, please!" 

You grab and pull and plead, but Sam won't move - he just stands there, staring at you. 

"Sam? Sam, please. I need you, Sam. Please, Sam. Please help me." 

You aren't screaming or yelling or fighting anymore. You're holding Sam, his face gently grasped in your outstretched arms, tears pouring down your face. 

Out of all the things you've been through - the things that you remember going through at this moment at least - this is the worst that you have ever experienced. The man you want, the man you need, the man you love is just standing there, watching you suffer at your most desperate moment. 

"Why, Sam?" 

That's the last thing you were able to say before you felt your arm being grasped, and your body being flung to the ground. 

You turn around to sit up on your elbows and look up to see your dad, but behind him is no trace of Sam. He's gone. 

He saw your past, saw who you truly were, and he left you.

Your biggest fear has come true. You're not only despised by the one person you love more than life itself, but you're alone.

You look back up to your dad and accept whatever is to come. You're done hiding. You're done begging and crying and wishing for an escape. You're done wishing for help. You're done fighting and trying. You're just done. You see him raise up the butt of the gun, so you close your eyes and prepare for the hit. The hit that never comes. 

Instead of something striking your head, you hear a collision that sounds like two bodies running into each-other. Your eyes shoot open, and to say you're stunned would be an understatement. 

Your gaze fixes on Sam straddling your dad, beating him to a bloody mess. 

You watch for what seems like an eternity. When you can finally muster up the strength and ability to make a sound, you squeak out a simple and shaky "Sam?". 

His attention snaps from your bloody, half-unconscious, moaning, mess of a dad and to you. His rage-filled eyes softening at you and your horrified expression. You weren't horrified at Sam - no, not at all - but you were horrified at today. You are at a loss for words and you're completely and utterly beyond lost. 

Then everything starts to fade to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for checking out my work! This is my very first fan-fic that I've ever written, so I'm incredibly sorry if it isn't up to par! I hope that I've reflected the characters in the way that represents them in the best way possible, and I really, really hope that you enjoy(ed) reading! Thank you so, so much for checking it out! Comments are very welcome ^.^  Also, a major thank you to my wonderful friend, AmegakureAngel, for beta reading everything! She's the best!!  
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading!!!


	4. Let Me In

"Night, Sammy!"  

That's the last thing Sam hears before drifting off to (Y/N)'s dream-land.  

When Sam opens his eyes, the first thing he realizes is that he's standing in the parking lot of some run-down motel plaza. The sound of a door shutting (a little loudly) catches his attention, but he doesn't see anyone around - including you. Taking a moment to gaze at the room the slight slam came from, he notices that the blinds seem to be open enough to reveal what's happening inside.  Not knowing where else to go, or where you possibly were, he stalks up to the window, deciding to take his best chance at finding you - and finds himself successful.   

Glancing into the room, he can see you standing on the side of the room closest to the window and opposite from the wall that houses the headboards of the two twin beds. He goes to walk over to the door, but is stopped when he notices the look of unnerving terror spread across your face - a look he's only seen twice. Once when he was hurt to the point of near death (after a Wendigo hunt gone sideways), and the other time being when you had been cornered by a vamp. The vamp had you out of earshot of the brothers, but was saying something to you that looked like it made your heart stop. You had frozen up completely, letting the vamp get a bite out of you, but Sam was there as soon as the vamp's teeth sunk into the skin between your neck and shoulder.  

Sam's glance maneuvers from you to the man standing near the door of the motel, who is now making his way over to you, eerily slow, but still moving for you. Sam can't tell what he's saying exactly, but quickly realizes that it's nothing good. Before Sam has time to contemplate what his next move is going to be, it happens.   

The man backhands you and you slump to the floor.   

Sam's blood simultaneously boils and drains from his face.    

"No! (Y/N)! Hey!" Sam screams out, trying to get the man's attention off of you. He want's to run in, pick you up and just hold you, but he can't help just standing there in anticipation - watching in horror.  

He can see you as you turn onto your stomach and are half standing/half sprinting toward the door, your fingertips grazing the filthy, rough motel room carpet as you try to make your escape; but his view is blocked as the man bends over you, latching onto your midsection and pulling up.  

Sam begins to beat on the motel room window, and is about to yell out for you again, but his actions are stopped by the sight of you being brought further up into the air - now visible to Sam, just above the man's face - and slammed into the ground.  

Not able to take watching this happen to you for another moment, Sam snaps back into reality (well, this reality) and rushes over to the motel room door, only to find it locked. He fights, pushes, pulls, kicks, grunts, and slams into the door, but nothing is happening and he doesn't understand why. 

Giving up on his futile efforts to get in through the door, he runs back over to the window - but all of his actions cease as he sees you hit the headboard of the bed furthest from the door, straight in his line of sight.   

Sam freezes as he sees you slide down onto the bed. He immediately calls out for you as he notices the blood pouring from your head, running down your temple and coating your (Y/H/L), (Y/H/C) in a deep crimson color. Then his attentions switches from your bleeding, battered body, to that damn man making his way towards you again.   

"(Y/N)! (Y/N), baby, please! (Y/N)!"   

He's stunned into silence when he get's a clear view of the gut-wrenching horror that begins to unfold. He thought what he had just seen was awful, but he knew nothing yet.   

Sam's heart begins to race and shatter even more. His fists clench, and he feels like he wants to throw up, pass out, rush in that damn room, grab you, and just hold you - protect you - all at the same time, but he's cursed into standing outside of the grimy, rusted-shut motel room window, watching as this poor excuse of a man rips your jeans from your hips and drags them down to your ankles (and, in what seems like a heartbeat, yet an eternity at the same time, rips the material from your hands and throws them aimlessly to the side).   

With his heart feeling like it's jumped into his throat, Sam can only hope that some miracle happens - anything to get you out of this. He's willing you to fight, to win this match against the odds. Sam hates this. He hates that man for doing this to you. He hates that he can only stand here and be forced to watch these events unfold. He hates hearing the cries and pleas that begin to fall from your trembling lips.  He hates having to watch this incredibly strong, brave, independent woman be crushed into a terrified, beaten, pleading victim. He hates knowing that you’re suffering and in pain, but having to watch it feels like someone’s pouring salt into an abundance of open wounds. He hates all of this, and he especially hates that there's not a damn thing that he can do to help you. It absolutely destroys him that, for some unknown reason, he can just never get in - he's always being kept out, and he absolutely hates it.  

Sam watches in alarm and disgust as the vile man tries to rip and yank the small, thin, only remaining piece of fabric protecting your remaining dignity away from you. He can hear your small pleas cease and turn into soft sobs, but he isn't at all expecting what comes next. Your writhing and fighting and crying on the bed shatters Sam's heart, but when he hears you yell what you do, his blood turns cold and it makes him lose it.  

The shrill scream breaks forth from your wrecked throat, sore and red from crying, begging, and screaming, but it's not a scream of nothing. No; it’s Sam's name.  

He can hear the pure terror and need saturating his name as it bawls from your lips, and it's then he realizes that you're calling out to him - begging him to help you. He hears the string of calls such as "Sam" and "Please help me" bellow out in a feeble attempt to call out to him - to get him to help you.  

All Sam can see is red.  

He begins relentlessly beating on the window - the sight of that man slapping you yet again pushing him even further. 

"(Y/N)! (Y/N), I'm right here! (Y/N)!" Not knowing what else to say, Sam just hopes that you can hear his desperate attempt to reassure you that he's there, fighting to get in - that he's fighting for you. Deciding to give one last attempt at the door, Sam runs over and gives it three hard kicks - and it finally breaks open.  

Bolting into the room as quick as he possibly could, Sam stops dead in his tracks when he doesn't see you there. In fact, no one is there. He now finds himself standing all alone in a familiar room, piled high with loads of old books, paperwork, and a thin layer of dust gently coating most of it. Sam notices that a fireplace housing some charred wood is also on one of the walls.  

Then it hits him: he's at Bobby's!   

Sam feels a bit of relief take over his overwhelming worry, but he's still brimming with concern, wondering where you are now. Deciding to wander around and investigate a bit before letting his distress engulf him completely, Sam walks around the old home, checking each room for any sight of you - that is until the front door slams shut.  

Racing into the room, Sam sees that nobody has entered the home, so maybe they exited instead? Placing his hand on the door handle, Sam gives it a twist, only to find out that it (just like the motel room door) is, of course, locked. Giving a frustrated groan, he tries to fumble with the lock and handle some more before giving up and going to a window. When he gets to the window, the sight that he's met with sends chills down his spine, and confusion rushing back into his system.  

Sam sees himself.  

He also sees you, and he can tell you're desperately trying to get him to do something.  

Being able to hear muffled bits of a one-sided conversation that's coming from you, he snakes his way over to a closer window, one that's nearest to you, so that you're now more visible and more easily understood.  

The pure panic residing in your features, accompanied by your urgent body language, alerts Sam to the fact that there's definitely danger nearby. Sure enough, out of the corner of his eye, Sam sees exactly what the problem is. It's a who, and it's that same man from the motel - only this time he's armed and coming straight for you and dream Sam.  

But again, it's your words and the tone that they carry that hurts Sam the most. Sam had a strong fusion of fear, confusion, hatred, and worry bubbling up inside of him, stirring his emotions into a hazy mess. However, Sam’s greatest anguish was a direct result from what you were saying - and how you were saying it.   

"Sam! We have to go. We have to leave. Now! Sam, please! What are you doing? Why are you just standing there? We need to leave!"  

That damn tone. It's that same damn tone that you used when you called out for him in your most vulnerable moment back at the motel (even though you weren't exactly screaming it at him now, more like sternly begging him). Hearing the pure need pouring from your shaking, tearful being felt like a burning knife through Sam's very soul. What Sam couldn't understand, though, was just why you weren't running. After all that man did to you, you were staying and begging Sam to run, to leave with you instead of just saving yourself. Instead of just running.  What he wouldn't give to be able to run to you right now. To just sprint out there to you, pick you up, and rip you away from all the danger. To rip you away from all of the hurt and fear.  

Sam listens, squeezing his eyes shut, and lets his hate and anger take over his other emotions. He lets everything that he’s felt today - all of the sorrow, disparity, anger, anguish, and pure hatred fume and build inside of his core as he hears your dad preach a hateful spew of venomous lies. Sam gives a strong, yet pointless, hit at the window. He still keeps his eyes closed tight, and tries to keep a few traitorous tears from escaping at the sound of a gun being cocked.  

"C'mon, (Y/N). C'mon, sweetheart, you've gotta fight. Please wake up. Just wake up, (Y/N), please."  

Now it's Sam's turn to beg. Standing with his fists plastered against the window and head held in shame, he urges you to know that this is just a dream - that this is just some nightmare that you need to wake the hell up from right now.  

"Sam! C'mon, Sammy!"  

Cringing as the name "Sammy" falls from your lips  (not because he minded you calling that, but because it just made you sound even more like you were trying to reach him - pull him - out of whatever state he was locked in), he squeezes his eyes shut tighter and wills for the tears to stop pooling over.  

"We have to go, please!"  

Sam doesn't know how much more he can take. With eyes still closed, he gives one more furious pound at the window. Nothing. 

'Why won't you just go? You need to go! (Y/N), just go!' These are the thoughts racing through Sam's mind, but what you mutter next is what will rip that train of thought right from it's tracks.  

"Sam?"   
 'Just go, (Y/N)' 

"Sam, please."   
'(Y/N), please. Just - just get out of there. Just wake up, (Y/N), please.'  

"I need you, Sam."  

Sam's eyes snap open and his head shoots up to look a you. He's never heard you actually admit that you needed anything from anyone, so that alone sent chills down his spine - and to top it off, you just admitted that you needed him. Once Sam is able to clearly focus on what is unfolding before him, his tears no longer clouding his vision, what he sees rips a feeling of pure anguish right through Sam's very being.  

Your face is only describable as a mix of pure confusion, hurt, and honesty. Your hands are resting up on dream Sam's cheeks, and it's almost as if Sam can actually feel them himself, resting as light as a feather on the sides of his face.  

"Please, Sam." Your voice breaking pulls a few more tears down Sam's cheeks.  

"Please help me."  

At that, Sam decides that there's no more waiting around. Within a matter of three steps, he glides his way through the house and over to the front door. Taking a deep breath, Sam decides to give the handle one last try before breaking the damn thing down like the last one.  

When he gives the handle a sharp twist, he's pleasantly surprised to find that it does, indeed, twist. Pulling it towards his body, Sam doesn't hesitate. He's out the door and racing towards you in a heartbeat - but is stopped in his tracks at the sight of that man standing above your broken, tired body, with his gun raised, butt getting ready to collide full-force with your head.  

Not on Sam's watch.  

Before anybody can register what's happening, Sam is across the yard, straddling the man who he hates with every fiber of his very being. A man who hurt you. A man who berated, degraded, assaulted, and humiliated you. A man who ripped away your feeling of safety and sense of dignity and self worth. A man who made you feel weak and helpless. A man who made you admit that you aren't capable of doing everything on your own.  

"Sam."   

The soft, wrecked sound of your voice snaps Sam out of his murderous trance. He looks down to the bloody, mess of a person lying underneath him, and then back to you - his heart dropping into his stomach at the horrified expression written across your face. He goes to say something, to call out to you and let you know that everything is okay now. To tell you that he's here now and that this was all just a dream and to wake up, but everything begins to fade to black again; and before he can say or do anything, everything is gone.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for checking out my work! This is my very first fan-fic that I've ever written, so I'm incredibly sorry if it isn't up to par! I hope that I've reflected the characters in the way that represents them in the best way possible, and I really, really hope that you enjoy(ed) reading! Thank you so, so much for checking it out! Comments and kudos are very welcome ^.^  Also, a major thank you to my wonderful friend, AmegakureAngel, for beta reading everything! She's the best!!  
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading!!!


	5. Waking Up

Darkness. 

That's the first thing that Sam registers as his eyes fly open. 

"(Y/N)? (Y/N)!" He calls out, reaching around for you, desperate in his attempt to find and protect you before anything else can happen - although he doesn't know what else could, it seems like nothing would be worse than what's already occurred. 

He shoots up in his bed, feeling that familiar moist feeling welling up in his eyes again, pulling wet streaks down his worried features. Feeling confused as to where he is now, as to what situation you'll encounter next... until he hears a familiar groan in the bed next to him, that is. 

He makes out the silhouette of Dean sitting up, everything becoming illuminated (including the tired - yet smug - look grazing across his features) as he flips on the lamp sitting on the nightstand by his bed. 

"Mornin', Sammy! Sleep well?" Dean gives off an all-knowing look, raising his eyebrows at his brother. 

Sam lets out a groan, mixed with both relief and worry. He's glad that all of that is over, but what was all of that exactly? And what is he supposed to do now? 

"Awh, did Sam get woken up in the middle of some action?" Dean chuckles while eying up Sam's exhausted and distressed figure. 

Sam stills at his brother's words. 

"So did you get the answers that you were hoping for?" Dean asks, giving Sam a pat on the knee while leaning forward, trying to get a better view of his brother's face. 

"Ya know, you sure were making it hard to sleep last night, moanin' a certain name and all. Hell, screamin' it sometimes. I mean damn, I think I even heard (YN) over there screaming out at some point! Was it good, Sammy? I mean, it sure sounded like it was." 

He can't take it anymore. Sam knows that his brother means best, that he doesn't know what happened in that "dream" and that his intentions were anything but negative, but Sam can't help but shoot him a deadly glare as soon as Dean was done talking. 

Dean notices immediately that this isn't just an annoyed look; no, he's gotten enough of those to know that this is something different. This is Sam's protective/warning look. He's seen him give this look to monsters that he's ganked before, so that causes a tremor of nervousness to course down Dean's spine, pulling chills forth from his skin. 

"Sam, what's wrong? What happened?" 

All jokes are aside now. Dean leans back, confusion and worry now etched onto his features. 

"You don't wanna know, Dean." Deciding that he needs to see you, and he needs to see you now, Sam begins to get up and head for the door - before a hand on his arm stops him in his tracks. Sam shoots Dean that look again, and although he is a bit unsteady, Dean doesn't falter. 

"What happened?" He asks again, his tone filled with even more worry than before. 

"Too much, Dean. You really just don’t wanna know, and it's not exactly my pla-" 

"Damn it, Sam! Just stop avoiding the question and tell me. You tell me almost everything, why can't you tell me what I made you go and -" 

"She was attacked Dean!" Sam snaps, interrupting his well-meaning, yet totally clueless brother. Ripping his arm from Dean's grasp, Sam begins to slowly descend closer toward Dean, towering over him more and more with each step he takes. 

"I watched it Dean. I had to just stand there and watch as she was beaten, as she cried, as she was assaulted" His strong, powerful voice begins to falter at the mention of that last word. 

Dean's face sinks and mixes into one of shame, anger, and hopelessness. Not knowing what to say, he goes to call out for his brother, nearly beginning to reach for him again, but then decides to just let him go as Sam makes a break for the motel room's door. Falling back onto his bed, he lets his feelings of guilt and anguish wash over him, fighting back his own pool of tears threatening to spill over. 

Sam slams the door shut behind him, worry now flooding back into his system along with the nippy night air, flushing out and replacing most of his anger. 

He rushes for your door, finding it in a matter of a couple of quick steps. He knocks a few times, but is interrupted by the sound of your muffled, choked sobs. He decides to just go in. However, when he opens your door, he feels like he's right back in your nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for checking out my work! This is my very first fan-fic that I've ever written, so I'm incredibly sorry if it isn't up to par! I hope that I've reflected the characters in the way that represents them in the best way possible, and I really, really hope that you enjoy(ed) reading! Thank you so, so much for checking it out! Comments and kudos are very welcome ^.^  Also, a major thank you to my wonderful friend, AmegakureAngel, for beta reading everything! She's the best!!  
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading!!!


	6. I Was There

Brightness. 

That's the first thing that you register as your eyes fly open. You immediately begin to frantically look around the room in an attempt to find whatever eminent danger lies waiting for you now. But after you shoot up from the sweat drenched couch (with a mixture of tears embedded into the dusty fabric as well), and the world stops spinning after a moment, you find that you're alone. 

It was all a dream. 

One big, long, awful dream that was more vivid than any you can ever recall having. The mere memory of the events that unfolded last night makes your throat begin to constrict and your body fall in on itself. Everything becomes blurry and you're struggling to take in a breath. Feelings of disgust, anger, fear, and panic are all flooding into you, overwhelming your body and your mind. 

You try to get up off of the couch to go get some water and walk around a bit as an attempt to calm yourself down, but after two steps, your shaky legs give out and you crumple to the ground. You land at the foot of your bed and decide that trying to get around is pointless. Breathing is impossible at this point, and sobs are wrecking your body so hard that you couldn't form a coherent sentence if you tried. 

His hands still feel like they're all over you. Like they're beating you, strangling you, ripping away your clothes, violating you… And you can't take it. 

Doing the only thing that you can at that moment, you squeeze your eyes shut as tight as possible - locking out the rest of the world - and you let out a cry of anguish. Your throat seems to open just enough, in that single moment in time, to allow you this relief. You scream because of what happened. You scream because of the nightmare that you just awoke from. You scream because of the fact that it wasn't just a nightmare, but at some point, it was your reality. You scream because seeing the look in your father's eyes may have hurt like a son of a bitch, but it was nothing compared to Sam's - both when he was an immobile shell of a person, and when he was your hero, barreling in to save you at the mention of your needing him… You scream because you know that you need him. That you can't keep living with everything locked inside of you like this. 

Using the last bit of air you have left in your burning lungs, you do the one thing you remember that saved you in your dream. You call out for Sam. It comes out as a broken sob, wrecked from the strain your vocal cords have just been put through, but you still manage to get it out. 

All of a sudden, the hands you thought that you were imagining become all too real to just be in your head, and you're immediately fighting. Not wanting to see the man that you fear the most - more than any monster you have/have yet to face - you keep your eyes closed as tight as possible. In a vague and pointless attempt to scramble away from the large hands that wrapped themselves - oddly gently - around your shoulders, you wind up hitting your head and back against the railing of the footboard of the motel bed during the process. You let more sobs escape as you collapse back onto the ground, too tired to fight anymore. 

With your eyes still closed you didn't see the same pair of hands slowly reach out for you again, but you flinch when you feel them lightly wrap around your face. Then you hear his voice. 

Sam. 

"(Y/N), sweetheart, open your eyes for me! Shh, It's just me, It's Sam. Sam is here. I'm right here." You hear him pleading for you to just snap back into reality, but in your cloud of panic you're scared that when you open your eyes it won't be Sam's staring back at you. 

A few more sobs escape from your lips and a few calming hushes escape from who you desperately hope is Sams. You can feel your heartrate steadying a slightly and your throat opening up a bit, but it isn't enough. You have to know that this is real - that he is real and here right now. You have to feel him. 

With trembling hands to match your trembling frame, you slowly raise your left hand up to gently wrap around the outside of one of Sam's, and your right hand finds his face. You slowly move your fingers around and you recognize the feeling of some distressed locks hanging down, framing his face and brushing along the back of your knuckles. This is real. This is Sam. 

You keep your hands where they are, not wanting him to somehow slip away from you, and you allow your eyes to flutter open. Squinting from a mixture of your still falling tears and the harsh light that dilates your pupils dramatically, you still manage to make out the blurry image of a shaggy haired, deeply concerned, teddy bear of a man leaning over you. 

"There ya go, that's is, (Y/N). That's it, sweetheart. It's me; it's Sam. I'm right here. You're okay. It's okay now. You're okay." 

His soft, calming melody brings your heartbeat back down to an acceptable pace, and while you're still shaking a bit, you aren't trembling anymore. Your eyes stay locked on Sam's as a couple of choked sobs still manage to escape from your shaking lips, and tears continue to pour from your eyes and down his hands. And, if you didn't know any better, it looks like you're not the only one crying. 

You brush your thumb across Sam's cheek, and sure enough you're wiping away tears of his own. 

Before you have time to say anything, you feel yourself being pulled up and into Sam. He completely engulfs you, wrapping his arms protectively and comfortingly around you, and shoving your face into the crook of his neck. You quickly reciprocate and wrap one arm under his and around his shoulder, and your other arm around his neck, grabbing at his plain white T-shirt and carefully grasping at his neck, wanting to latch yourself completely onto him - to anchor yourself to where you feel safe. 

His left hand is gripping at your shirt, just like yours is his, and his right is running soothing up-and-down patterns along your back. You both are sobbing, and you aren't exactly sure as to why he's as distraught as he is. Yes, he caught you is a broken, mess of a state, but that wouldn't have this much of an effect on him. Would it? 

"I was there. Your dream. I was there." 

Oh, dear God...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for checking out my work! This is my very first fan-fic that I've ever written, so I'm incredibly sorry if it isn't up to par! I hope that I've reflected the characters in the way that represents them in the best way possible, and I really, really hope that you enjoy(ed) reading! Thank you so, so much for checking it out! Comments and kudos are very welcome ^.^  Also, a major thank you to my wonderful friend, AmegakureAngel, for beta reading everything! She's the best!!  
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading!!!


	7. Letting Him In

No. 

You couldn't have just heard him say what you think he just said. He was there? That’s impossible, it was a dream. 

As if this man is a mind reader, he answers your unspoken concerns yet again. 

"It was dream root. Dean, he-" His voice comes out so hoarse and broken. He stops his movements on your back and just clutches at the balled up fabric that's being strangled in his clenched fists. 

"He slipped us some. Made you have really vivid dreams and made me be able to see them. (Y/N), I - I'm so sorry. I never meant to -" He's cut off by your sobs, picking up in volume against your will. You're beginning to violently tremble again, and your breathing is back to being sporadic and shallow. 

You feel Sam pull you away from his chest but he leaves his hands wrapped around you - one on your shoulder and the other on the back of your neck. You keep one of your hands on his shoulder, grabbing at his shirt with the minute amount of strength that you have left and bring your other hand to clasp over your mouth in a desperate attempt to keep your cries in. You can't bring yourself to look at Sam. He knows. He knows all about your dirty little secret that you kept hidden away for so long. You wasted so much time going out of your way to cover this all up. You would try and get motel rooms that were far away from the boys so that they wouldn't hear your screams or cries in the middle of the night if you had a nightmare. You would leave the TV or radio on, use sleeping pills, stay up for days at a time, or even go as far as to sleep outside when you were stuck at the bunker and were sure that you'd wake them up. You took so many precautions, built up so many walls, and in the matter of one night everything was torn down. 

You drop your hand that was on his shoulder into your lap. You feel Sam move one of his hands to cup your chin. He lightly pulls up, nothing like what your father did, and brings your face from being aimed at the ground to now being aimed at his. His features are submerged with so many different emotions. He looks guilty beyond belief, but he also looks like he's in pain - agony and disparity framing his eyes and mouth, and anger rising up in his cheeks, but you know that it isn't directed at you.  

You know that he won't push you, but he wants an explanation. He won't ask you just yet, but the puppy dog look topping off all of the expressions on his face is enough to make you cave without him having to use any words. He looks like he desperately wants to say something, but just can't bring himself to. But you know what he wants, and you know what you have to do. 

It's time to tell your story. 

"My dad -" Your voice is even worse than you thought it would be. You sound like your vocal cords were put into a blender that was set at chop. Everything comes out hoarse and choked, but you continue, glancing down. Sam's hand is still under your chin, brushing soothingly across your lower cheek, and that small encouraging act alone helps give you the last bit of strength that you need to get you to speak up again. 

"My dad was the man you saw." You chance looking up at Sam after you manage to get your first understandable sentence out. His eyes become deluged with a dark hue, anger becoming more and more evident in his previously compassionate features. He noticeably tenses, and his thumb stops moving across your face until you begin to continue your well-overdue explanation. 

"I was born into hunting, but my parents divorced when I was young. I would spend about six months with each of them. My dad, he -" Your voice cracks, preventing you from following through with the rest of your thought. Sam is beyond patient, however. He begins gently rubbing his hand (that had been resting on your shoulder) up and down your back again. You relax into his touch and take a deep breath, filling your lungs with a bit of clarity and courage, resuming your spiel. 

"He got violent. It was never too bad, though, so I wouldn't say anything to anybody. But, after my mom died, it got worse." 

You turn your gaze completely down, shutting your eyes and letting all of the memories flood back to you. Then it dawns on you. How much did Sam see? You knew he was there at the end, but just when did he get into your dream? 

"Did you see -" again, your voice betrays you, but you turn your head up and ignore the faltering. You keep your eyes shut for the question that you're about to have to pose to Sam. 

"Did you see what happened at the motel?" You open your eyes and lock your gaze with Sam's. Now it's his turn to glance down. He nods his head yes and slowly looks back up at you - his face contorted with an overwhelming amount of guilt. You bring the hand that was previously resting in your lap up to one of Sam's hands. He grabs at it, locking four of your fingers in his lightly-closed fist. You run your thumb comfortingly along the back of his hand. While it hurts to know that he just saw the one thing that you wanted to keep locked away from him forever - from everyone forever - you knew that it wasn't his fault. And you also knew that this was something that you needed to do, that you needed to say. 

"That happened when I was almost fifteen. It was soon after my mom had died and I was living with my dad full time. It was the first time he had done something like that. He used to just beat on me, nothing I couldn't handle, but then that happened. And it wasn't the last time it happened…” 

You can feel the tension and hatred radiating off of Sam. His hand is still making comforting movements along your back, but his other hand distinctly tightens around your fingers. It doesn't hurt, but you can tell that he's trying to control himself. 

Neither Sam nor dean knew anything about your past (other than the fact that you were born into the life and you were on your own). They realize that each hunter has a past, and they just assumed that yours was too painful to talk about. Sure, they had asked about it before, but you would always politely dodge their questions - and they were okay with that. They were okay with that because they thought that you were okay. They were okay with that because they had no idea how much your past still tore you to shreds every time you saw a man that looked a certain way, heard the cocking of a gun, were touched a certain way, when certain words would trigger you, or whenever you would close your eyes. 

"It kept happening until I was seventeen. One day I knew that he was gonna kill me, so I skipped town and that was actually when I met Bobby for the first time." A smile actually manages to just graze your face. The thought of your family always seems to be able to do that to you - the thought of your true family that is. The family that don't end in blood.   
"He helped me get back on my feet and then soon after I met you and Dean. Now, here we are." 

You drop your head and hand at that point, also closing your eyes in the process. You fiddle with your nails, not wanting to see the expression on Sam's face. You know it's going to be one that’s full of either hatred, disappointment, disgust, or (worst of all) pity. But as he gently caresses your chin and pulls your gaze up to meet his, you open your eyes to find none of those. Dare you say that Sam is looking at you with a look of adoration…? 

"(Y/N) - I had no idea." His line of sight stays fixated on you, conveying every emotion he has felt and is feeling tonight. "I'm so sorry. I - I didn't know. (Y/N), please just know that whatever you went through is over. While the fight caused by it may be far from over, the actual cause is over. He can't hurt you anymore. We won't let that happen, okay? I -" He looks down for a moment, as if he's really considering what he's about to say. 

"I won't let that happen. I'm here. You are not alone. (Y/N), you are beyond strong. The fact that you went through that proves me right alone, but the way you picked up right after and just pushed everything down - I don't know how you did that. I'm not saying that it was necessarily good to shut everyone out, but I am saying that it just proves how independent and how strong you are. Just know that you telling me what you just did makes you even stronger. It took a lot of strength and courage for you to do that, I know, but you did it. You did it, (Y/N), and I am so proud of you" 

Tears are filling your eyes again, but they aren't tears of sadness or anger or any negative emotion. They're tears of joy - tears of relief.  

Before you can even think, you're diving forward. You clasp your hands around the sides of Sam's face and pull his lips to meet yours. The kiss is quick, but every emotion that you feel is finally conveyed. Sam can feel your anguish, despair, and loneliness, but he can also feel it get washed away and replaced with joy and relief - and with peace. 

As soon as you break the kiss, nervousness sets in. You realize that what you just did was really forward, and you're not sure how Sam is going to react. You're frightened to think that he won't reciprocate your feelings, or that he'll just think that what you did was because of the fact that you're exhausted and that you just opened up to him. You're terrified to think that he won't believe that you've wanted this since the beginning. However, when he pulls you back into him to relish in another passion-filled kiss, you know that everything is okay. You know that he understands. 

As soon as the kiss ends, Sam pulls back to look into your eyes, his hands still holding your face steady. 

"You're not alone, (Y/N). You let me in, and I'm here now. I'm here for you - for whatever you need. I wish I could've been there sooner, but I'm here now. You will be okay. It may take a while, but eventually everything will be okay." 

You can't muster up any words, so you resort to placing one hand on one of Sam's and the other on his face, giving him a grateful and understanding nod. He pulls you in for another short and sweet kiss, then into an embrace that makes you feel beyond safe. When you're in his arms, it feels like nothing bad can happen. It feels as if you're sheltered from everything - from every problem, every hardship, and every trouble. Everything besides the two of you. 

Everything will be okay; you realize that now. 

You let Sam in, and everything will be okay. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

~AKF~   
http://variety.com/2015/tv/people-news/jared-padalecki-always-keep-fighting-depression-suicide-twloha-1201451708/   
   
websites for all hotlines:  
https://psychcentral.com/lib/telephone-hotlines-and-help-lines/  
http://www.healthyplace.com/other-info/resources/mental-health-hotline-numbers-and-referral-resources/

Suicide Prevention Hotline/Website:   
1-800-273-8255   
http://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/  

National Sexual Assault Hotline/website:   
1-800-656-4673   
https://www.rainn.org/    
   
Child Abuse Hotline/website:   
 1-800-4-A-CHILD  - or - (1-800-422-4453)   
https://www.childhelp.org/hotline/   
 

" I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;   
    your works are wonderful,   
    I know that full well."   
            - Psalm 139:14   
   
Always Keep Fighting, Loves! You are worth it, and it does get better! You are loved <3  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for checking out my work! This was my very first fan-fic that I've ever written, so I'm incredibly sorry if it wasn't exactly up to par! I hope that I've reflected the characters in the way that represents them in the best way possible, and I really, really hope that you enjoyed reading! Thank you so, so much for checking it out! Comments and kudos are very welcome ^.^  Also, a major thank you to my wonderful friend, AmegakureAngel, for beta reading everything! She's the best!!  
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading!!! 


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